Puppetmaster
by Makore
Summary: After the events of The Dawn, Walter and Alucard are sent to investigate and dispatch a strange nosferatu mutilating his human victims. However, there is more at work here than meets the eye, and nothing is as it seems.
1. A Warm Welcome

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own Hellsing, nor do I make any profit from this. It's purely intended for enjoyment purposes._

_**A/N:**__ This story takes place somewhere after the events of The Dawn - in which Alucard and Walter's exploits into Warsaw 1944 are explained. If you haven't read it, their characterizations might not make much sense, so I'd highly suggest it! (It's a good read, anyway.) This is my first endeavor into fanfiction, and am more than open-minded to criticisms and comments. _

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The rain had been steadily pouring for hours from a sky clouded by gray; sunset would have been blooming above by now, had the skies been clear. Walter rested his back against a tree, rummaging in his pocket for his cigarettes before placing one at his lip and fumbling with his lighter. Taking a long drag, dispassionate eyes scanned the horizon, exhaling a wisp of smoke into the frigid air.

The grassy plains outside a small village on the outskirts of English territory had fallen victim to a rather vicious sort of animal, one that walked on two feet instead of four. It had desolated the area, transforming it's victims into ghouls, or mutilating them so badly that their bodies were beyond recognition. Even Walter had been hard pressed to place some of the bloody remains as human.

The vampire had taken up lodging in the basement of the village physician, using the man's collection of medical instruments to create macabre mannequins out of human flesh, muscle and bone. Despite his training and experience in the area of what some labeled as gruesome, the Angel of Death himself had found the scene particularly brutal and cruel as he had descended the steps in search of the nasty _vermin_ problem.

Things had gotten interesting when the mannequins had become animate. They were no more than dust, now, at any rate. Whatever strange occult knowledge the vampire possessed was obscure - not even Alucard could place the origin of the symbols painted in blood on the walls and floor of the basement, though they guessed it had something to do with whatever ritual was carried out to bring the lifeless mutations to their feet with killing intent.

Wiping a splattering of blood from his cheek with the back of a gloved hand, Walter resisted the urge to sigh. The smell of death, blood and rotting flesh permeated the air and made it rather unpleasant to breathe. As he exhaled another cloud of smoke, he let his eyes descend from the sky and fall upon the corpses and remains scattered over the vast stretch of field. The vampire had sent his forces of ghouls - nearly the entirety of the village's population - after the pair of Hellsing's finest in order to stall time to escape; however, the creature had not planned for his pursuers to be adept monster hunters. The team had split up, leaving Walter to deal with the ghouls and ghastly puppets, and Alucard to pursue the vampire.

To his dismay, the task had taken no more than a few minute's course; ghouls were of no consequence as far as Walter's monofilament wires were concerned, and the crowd of reanimated bodies soon became no more than a littering of dust and severed limbs, blood and rain flowing together to stain the grass beneath his feet.

Sliding damp tendrils of hair from his face, he pushed his weight off from the tree and casually began to weave through the labyrinth of strewn bodies and mud. Alucard was taking an exceptionally long time to kill one measly vermin. Tossing his cigarette butt among the carnage, Walter idly began to make his way back to the village.

It was strange to see a town so empty and barren, though the cause was quite obvious. There was not so much as a sound beyond the pattering of rain and his own footsteps, the gentle sway of the wind occasionally stirring the trees or bushes. Walter halted his pace before the residence of the physician - behind the windowpanes was an unmistakable faint crimson glow. Frowning minutely, he started up the porch and opened the rickety screen door, holding his breath and focusing his hearing for any sounds within the house. Hearing a sound like a faint voice coming from the basement, Walter mumbled a curse under his breath. What was Alucard doing, sitting down for tea with the vampire? Running his fingers through his soaked hair, he exhaled in a sigh and made his way to the stairwell leading down.

The crimson glow was vibrant and pulsing brighter as though in tune with a human heartbeat as Walter went on. He turned the corner, perplexity in his gray eyes as he searched the contents of the dank basement. When he and Alucard had searched the residence earlier, it had been abandoned, with only the lifeless puppets to greet him - now, however, everything was different. The puppets' remains had been cleared away, and the sigils scrolled on the walls and floor that were once dulled and neglected were now brilliantly luminous.

Walter did not notice until it was too late that the shadows of the room seemed unnaturally deep with the amount of light the seals were radiating; cursing under his breath, he turned to run, but was cut short as he nearly barreled right into the figure of a man standing tall at several heads over him, the glow of blood-red eyes mocking above a smile of insanity. With the full strength of a vampire, the man thrust Walter upward by his throat, dangling him in the air and slamming him back against the wall, the seal humming hypnotically with the disturbance.

"Just some scrawny boy? Where's the girl I saw?"

_Just what I'd like bloody well like to know,_ Walter thought, lungs burning with the need to breathe beyond the choking grip of the nosferatu. He waited a moment longer, making sure the positioning was perfect, before his fingers twitched once in flawless form. A satisfying yelp of surprise was jolted from the lips of the man as he was unceremoniously cut in two, crumpling in half to the ground with a splatter of blood and gore.

Walter fell, choking, rubbing his throat with a bubble of anger as he cast his gaze about in search of his companion, who, naturally, was nowhere to be found. Getting to his feet, he stared down at the vampire who was attempting to piece his body back together, but Walter did not give him the chance. With one swift, merciless motion, the head of the creature was severed from it's neck, rolling away from it's crimson-stained body to lay several feet away.

Dusting himself off, he took a moment to regain his composure before stepping over the remnants of the rather short-lived confrontation, shaking his head over the pathetic effort the creature had fronted. And to think, he never got to see what those pretty glyphs on the walls were for. Once more withdrawing a cigarette from his pocket, he stopped to light it at the base of the stairs, glancing upward; he would've sworn he'd left the door open... Shrugging, he started up, tired of the musky smell of basement and blood.

He hadn't made it past the third step when something clutched his ankle, causing him to awkwardly lose his balance and fall forward, ungracefully colliding with the stairs as he was dragged roughly back. Letting out a strangled protest, he tilted his head backward to see what had gripped him; his eyes widened upon the sight they beheld. It was the vampire, very pieced together, very composed, and very angry. His towering frame leaned forward, grabbing Walter by the shirt with one fist and lugging him upward, pulling the boy inches from his face and staring at him with a wild, sadistic expression dwelling in his eyes. "That was pretty painful," the monster breathed, his tongue sliding between his lips to lick over the blood slowly dripping from Walter's injured nose.

"So is this," Walter managed, smiling cruelly before he jerked his hands upward and spread his fingers, ready to let the wires dance. Yet... nothing happened. His hands did not obey his command, hanging limply at his sides, utterly motionless. He tried again, and again, yet could do nothing; sensation was still there, but they simply would not _move._ A look of panic struck his face as the laughter of the vampire became mocking.

"Having trouble, lad?" He asked, dragging Walter from the stairwell and into the depths of the eerily aglow basement. "I don't think you know what you've gotten yourself into..."

The sound of screaming quickly filled the basement, drowning out even the sound of the rain.


	2. Dancing on Strings

"It's quite interesting," the man said, the pair of scalpels in each of his hands brushing against each other with the clink of metal as he stood with his back to the boy on his knees. "The durability of a human body is determined by several factors - and when you break them down, one by one, the psyche reacts in amusing ways. It's like a puzzle. For the greatest measure of stability, a steady amount of pain dealt over a broader period of time is favorable. For the most torture, increments of slow, increasingly violent pain is preferred. And, if you wish to truly break someone," he continued, turning towards the sigils aglow beneath the dejected youth's knees with a wildly ecstatic look, "well, that is truly where a masterpiece lies. You can meld a human mind to whatever your wishes may be. There are some particularly beautiful samples that you and your accomplice destroyed, I'm afraid."

"You're sick," came the hoarse reply.

"Sick?" The man arched his brows. "Sick? Maybe. But you? You are just another stupid, fool-hardy boy walking into a death trap with his eyes closed. I'd say you're in no position to be making judgments of character." He bent down before Walter, lifting his chin with the sharp edge of the scalpel and leering down into his face. "Either way, you'll bleed red, and that's all that matters to me."

Though he felt as if he had been kicked and tousled rather thoroughly by a herd of horses, Walter still had the strength to offer a mocking smile. This did not seem to phase his captor, for the man only laughed softly before laying a hand on Walter's shoulder and pushing him back. His entire body limp, he had no choice but to collapse backwards upon the strange, luminous glyph scrawled across the floor.

The Angel of Death stared up at the ceiling, not feeling at all like a man deserving of his title. He had let his arrogance blind him to the true happenings in the village, and walked head-first into the vampire's carefully planned ministrations, which seemed to include experimenting with occult rituals on his very headhunters. Foolish pride.

His jaw clenched painfully tight as the scalpel brushed across his throat, cutting a thin, fine line just above his collarbones from one end to the other. The sickening sensation of a wet, coarse tongue sliding over the wound was quick to follow, making his stomach turn in disgust. It was frustrating beyond words, shameful beyond comprehension - he could do nothing but lie limp as a doll and leave the creature to it's whims. Rage burned uselessly in his heart, making his blood boil. Beside his ear, a throaty chuckle escaped the man's mouth.

"Your blood is sweet," he whispered. "Some prefer the blood of aged men, but me... Me, I've always enjoyed savoring the taste of youth."

"Get off me, you bloody freak," he barked contemptuously, trying to raise his head but failing miserably. Whatever the detestable creature had done, he was becoming more and more numb by the moment. He could no longer feel his feet or hands, and the loss of sensation was creeping up his limbs like a spreading plague.

"Quiet down, or your might bite off your tongue carelessly," the man replied, continuing to lick across the welling blood of Walter's throat. "I have to pay you back for cutting off my head. That's not good manners. Very poor manners, in fact."

Walter had been about to offer a sarcastic retort in return when fingers were abruptly jammed into his mouth, seizing his wriggling tongue. "I could always cut this off, just to be sure... but then I run the risk of you choking on your own blood. That would be unfortunate. Wouldn't it?"

Fiery fury flickered within the contents of Walter's eyes as he stared up at the twisted vampire, his heavy breathing and muffled grunts of effort his only available reply. _Move, damnit!_ He demanded himself, but his body would not comply. The cold numbness was consuming him whole, and he could do nothing to stop it.

"There there," the man said cheerfully, resting Walter's head back down upon the cement and releasing his tongue, sitting up as he tapped the scalpel to the boy's jaw. "I just need to bleed you dry for the last little bit of this to work. And when it's finished... you can become another one of my masterpieces, perhaps my best yet. Your unique talents are impressive."

The Angel of Death wanted nothing greater than to be able to wipe the smug smirk off the face of his oppressor, but his body was next to useless. Haziness was already begun to taint the fringes of his vision; he must have been losing more blood than he thought. How long had he been here? He could no longer remember. Grimacing, he cast his eyes everywhere at once in an effort to determine some way to escape the man's clutches.

He felt the weight of the man ebb away slowly and judged that he must've risen. There was the sound of metal against metal, a sort of clanking, and then an acute and brilliant agony sprang up from his chest. His eyes shot wide open, mouth opening to release a howl, yet nothing escaped him. He was trapped within his own body, forced to watch and feel as the sick, twisted creature dug his instruments of torture into his flesh that he couldn't combat or defend himself from. He was... failing, so miserably... and what hurt more than the physical agony was the damage to his pride.

_Tisk-tisk, little Angel. Letting yourself get caught up like this is very unlike you. Aren't you the one supposed to be pulling the strings?_

The cocky, endlessly humored voice filled his mind - an all too familiar voice, at that, and despite himself, he felt a wild-eyed smile overtaking his face. The man must've seen it, for his expression promptly changed from satisfaction and hazy bloodlust to perplexity. Rising to his feet, the man wiped his bloodied hands on his white shirt, returning his silver utensils of torture to the tray on which they had been resting in the corner. Seconds later, Walter could hear the man's voice - muffled as though his own ears were filled with water.

"So, it appears you didn't succumb to the minions after all. Aren't you a bit young to be doing this sort of thing?"

The sickly-sweet reply was one that sent a thrill running through Walter's chest, goose bumps rising at the level of elation pulsing through his blood.

"How disappointing," came the childish, high-pitched voice of none other than Alucard. "_This_ is who managed to mar my pretty little Angel?"

A scoff, and the man tilted his head to the white-clad girl, crossing his arms over his chest. "Young and mouthy. Shouldn't you be scampering home to mommy?"

Alucard laughed, and Walter heard the click of the safety being removed from the Casull. A nearly maniacal smile up took his lips. Soon, the vampire would be no more than a mass of blood and gore upon those eerily glowing sigils.

"Now now, don't be hasty," the man said, and Walter tilted his eyes slowly to look find the bastard in his sights. His hazy figure had moved before Walter, standing between him and Alucard. "It would be a terrible shame if you were to kill me before I released the binds on this boy. Why, he would die in no more than an hour."

There was a brief silence. Walter could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, pulsing fast and uneven with the agonizing torture of waiting, before the man spoke again.

"Now, how about you put that away? Your cooperation would make things go much, much better for you. I could finish what I've started here and take my leave, as you've managed to ruin most of the work I'd started in this place."

As he was talking, Walter felt his body moving as though of it's own volition. He sat up, head falling limply forward, and began to crawl haphazardly to his feet; his entire body burned in protest with nearly mind-numbing pain - the godforsaken bastard had spared him no short amount of agony, it seemed; with his head slumped like this, he could see the remainders of the silver rods still sticking out of his abdomen - yet it mattered little. His hands rose, the near untraceable line of wires becoming taut between his fingers.

Alucard lifted a brow beneath his dark bangs, a sort of pleased smile glittering to light up his eyes and capture his lips. "Oho," he said. "Puppeteer."

The vampire chuckled, moving aside and letting Walter stagger past his shoulder towards Alucard. "You came to find your friend," he said with a laugh. "Don't let me interrupt your reunion."


	3. Sneaking Suspicions

Wires danced through the air with little of the grace that Walter usually commanded at his fingertips, but with all the familiar deadliness. The white-coated form of Alucard darted with a sort of inhuman finesse as the Angel of Death was strung forward towards his comrade-turned-adversary. With each swing, each twist and manipulation of the monofilament wires, the puppeteer became more accustomed to his new toy.

Alucard's crimson eyes glowed with amusement, as if it were no more than a game as he effortlessly dodged the path of the strings. As he was forced back against the wall, he pressed himself flat, a look of absolute delight flickering across his face as the wires closed in on his tiny, deceptively feminine form. Walter stared at him through glassy eyes, issuing a sharp intake of breath from a mixture of pain and displeasure, and then, before his eyes, Alucard vanished.

Strings went slack as the tension in the wires abruptly relented. The cool press of a gun's barrel against the nape of Walter's neck sent a shiver running down his spine. The puppetmaster, observing from the unnatural shadows of the basement, chuckled low and deep.

"You'd kill the boy to stop me?"

"Would it be worth it? Why don't you tell me, coward?"

"Coward? I don't hide in the form of a little girl," the vampire retorted.

Walter listened wordlessly to the exchange, focusing on reigning in some form of control. Alucard wouldn't kill him, _couldn't_ kill him, but this fool didn't know that. He entrusted the creature's dispatch to his vampiric comrade, doubtlessthe other had already deduced some sort of plan to lure out his prey.

Sure enough...

_Don't worry, little Angel. This blathering fool will be dust soon, and your precious pride will heal in time._

Irritation panged in his chest as the words pervaded his mind. However, he didn't have much time to dwell before he felt his body being wrenched around, the monofilament wires whipping through the air with an audible _whoosh._ The press of the Casull vanished from his neck; Walter felt his lips curving upward in a half-smirk as he waited for the inevitable.

The nosferatu had located his adversary by the sound of his voice, and three well-placed shots of silver bullets found their mark in the wall where the puppetmaster had concealed himself within the humming glyphs of crimson. Blood splattered across the basement in a brilliant splash, a crude cry cut short as the vampire's body disintegrated to no more than dust; the eerie glow of the sigils immediately faded, and all was quiet.

Walter's body went lax and he felt himself falling, yet his companion was there, a blur of white suit and coat as the facade of a young girl knelt down to scoop him up with grace that defied his appearance. Alucard was wearing the same self-satisfied smirk he'd adorned when making his fashionably late entrance.

The Angel of Death grumbled something under his breath before saying, "Think you took bloody long enough?"

"You weren't the only puppet I've dealt with tonight," Alucard said. The welcome chill of his touch ran down Walter's cheek, to his jaw and down to his throat, where the sting of his wound flared. The nosferatu's eyes gleamed hungrily as he bent slowly, a husky exhale teasing rain-dampened flesh, his unusually long tongue snaking out to ever so lightly lick up the welling crimson fluid. A murmur escaped at the boy's ear, "You'll be able to move again, soon. Until then..."

"...Alucard." A growled warning.

"...relax, little Angel," the vampire laughed darkly. "I wouldn't take advantage of you. Not like this." He straightened, reluctantly, licking a stray smear of blood from the corner of his mouth with a most devious gleam in his eyes. Shrugging off his coat, he wrapped it around his Angel, and brought himself to his feet, about to turn to the stairwell and leave the musky contents of the basement, when Walter's voice halted him.

"Alucard."

"Yes?"

"Mind getting me a fag out of my pocket?"

Alucard wordlessly obliged with a humored chuckle, placing a cigarette at the boy's lips and lighting it for him. Walter took a drag and closed his eyes with a sigh; fuck. The bastard did a number on him with those bloody tools. However, he was pleased to find his fingers and toes beginning to tingle, and wiggled them experimentally as Alucard began to ascend the steps towards the kitchen with Walter in his arms.

"You can't be that bad off if you're already asking for cigarettes."

Walter eyed him side-long. "It would've been nice if you were taking care of the target instead of prancing around like a damned tart," he retorted in a murmur, but there was no edge to it.

"It couldn't be helped," Alucard replied, nearly pleasantly. Walter eyed him warily.

"What's got you so chipper?"

"It's becoming interesting," was his only reply as the screen porch was pushed ajar and they departed from the physician's estate.

Walter didn't have the opportunity to inquire just what his companion had meant, for the retrieval squad had already positioned themselves in the courtyard, trotting up to meet them and see to Walter's wounds. As he was pushed off additional assistance, his gaze was fixated upon the telling smile on Alucard's lips before he was taken from his line of vision.

The growing pit in the base of his stomach was only getting larger, and the Angel of Death couldn't shake the feeling things would only be only getting worse.


	4. Promises in Shadows

Arthur Hellsing's office was not, by any rights, tidy as Walter entered through the cracked doorway with a displeased expression. He was not in the best of dispositions. Arthur was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up upon his desk, sipping a glass of brandy and leisurely laughing with his female companion when he caught sight of the boy. Spluttering ungracefully, he dropped his feet and cleared his throat, giving a wince; he'd been in mid-gulp. Giving a hasty glance to the femme draped at his shoulder, he cast a quick and rather guilty look to Walter.

"Blast. I suppose it's a little too late to stuff her under the desk now, eh?"

"Just a tad," Walter said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving _Sir Hellsing_ a look which suggested the man be quick about business.

"Ah, mm, well then," the man said, straightening his tie and setting his half-empty glass upon his desk as he turned to the woman, giving her buttocks a quick _tap_ for good measure. "It seems we'll have to... reschedule."

The woman gave a dejected sigh, imploring the lord of the house to change his mind.

Arthur took a mere glance at Walter out of the corner of his eye, and seeing the grey clouds hovering over his head, he chuckled uneasily. "Sorry, sorry. Rain cheque."

The woman gave a pout, taking her coat up and draping it over her shoulder, voluptuous form sauntering towards the door and past Walter. She gave him a once-over, and with a dismissive sniff, departed.

"Man," Arthur murmured, running his fingers through his hair as he leaned forward onto his desk. "Quite a pair on that one."

"You are utterly--"

"--I know, I know," Arthur cut him off with a wave of a hand, sighing as he picked up his glass and took another swig. Examining the boy over the rim, he raised a brow. "I had heard you got trounced a bit, but after Poland--"

"--I thought we agreed not to discuss that again, Arthur--"

"--I thought your pride would be nice and wounded and I'd not see you for days," Sir Hellsing finished, ignoring the interjection without pause.

"Is that why you're flouncing about with less than savory persons of the opposite sex?" Walter inquired, raising a brow in inquisition, irritation flaring above the steady pang of anger. To bring his pride into the matter was simply insufferable.

"Oh bugger off," Arthur said, voice muffled behind his glass as he downed the rest of the liquid, setting it down sharply and leaning back in his chair. "A man can enjoy his life from time to time without his butler crawling up his arse about it. Are you going to give me some kind of report about this incident or do I have to write another essay about the evils of 'less than savory persons of the opposite sex'?"

Walter had half a mind to lock the man in his office with nothing to distract him but paperwork and a hefty stack of literature defining the art of etiquette, but the boy knew that in all likeliness, he'd find Arthur knee-high in a pile of paper airplanes, leering out the window at whichever maid happened to be passing by at the time, and well into his hidden stash of liquor Walter never could quite locate. He knew as well as any that Arthur Hellsing was not the type of man to be bullied into his work. When the time came, he would sit down and tend to it on his own - it was merely _when_ and _how often _that time came that became his young butler's concern.

Now, with his mood already in dangerously low territory, and Arthur in a particular belligerent fervor, Walter could feel his teeth grinding together. Yet, patience was a virtue, and luckily, it was one the boy prided himself on upholding...

"We dispatched the target, but the village had already succumbed and become ghouls by the time we arrived," he said curtly, his tone formal and dispassionate. Arthur stared out the window as his butler gave his account of events. "The target appeared to have some knowledge of obscure occult rituals. He survived a beheading, and reanimated strange... creatures he created from remnants of human bodies."

"Mm," Arthur murmured, stroking his chin as he acknowledged Walter. "Have you had any luck locating the origins of the ritual?"

"No," Walter replied, frowning slightly. "I have a good mental image of the sigils used, however, and will continue to research."

"Good enough," Arthur replied, nodding as he turned from the window and set his elbows on his desk. "Let me know as soon as you find something. And I'll give you some time to clean up this mess later on," he said, gesturing to the scattered papers, books, manila folders, and other assorted office materials laying in a disheveled mess across the room. "Just leave it be for now. I think better with a little clutter."

"A little...?" Walter started, but stopped himself. Arthur was hopeless. Simply hopeless.

Smiling roguishly, the Hellsing director promptly returned his feet to their place atop the desk as he leaned back in his chair, grabbing a folder and opening it in his lap. "Well then, chap. Take a load off and relax the rest of the day, hm?"  
Walter gave a grunt in reply, trying to ignore the almighty clutter he would be spending the greater part of the day tomorrow sorting through and tidying. As he was nearly through the doorway, Arthur's voice halted him once again.

"Walter."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"

Walter was surprised to see a rather thoughtful look on Arthur's face as he studied the fourteen year old boy standing at the entrance to his study. After a brief pause, the look vanished, and he waved his hand, a half-smile on his lips. "Never mind."

The butler lingered a moment longer, perplexed, before making his departure. Whatever had stirred the look upon Sir Hellsing's face remained a mystery.

The halls of the estate were quiet; it was reaching late evening, and most of the staff were retiring to their beds, if they had not already. Walter, habitually sleeping very little due to both his chosen profession and a restless mind, was not bothered by the hour as he traveled through the dimly lit corridors rather aimlessly. His thoughts wandered over the events of the past week, replaying the circumstances that left a dull throb at his throat and over his chest and legs he could not ignore. His very core throbbed with frustration and irritation at having been strung about as no more than a toy, a little puppet incapable of holding its own, manipulated with no greater effort than the helpless villagers who had been slain in the dozens. His hand tightened to a fist at his side. He would not allow himself to be so careless again. No strings - physical or hypothetical - would ever be used to manipulate him again. _He_ would be the puppeteer, dangling along his little marionettes. The thought brought a grimace to his face.

When he came back to himself, he realized that his feet had taken him to the basement door, the dim lights casting shadows that always seemed darker in the presence of the resident vampire. Grimacing, Walter touched his hand to his head, rubbing his temples in irritation. Why in the world had he come here--

He didn't have time to finish the thought before the door creaked open, seemingly of it's own accord. The flicker of candlelight from within the dark confines of Alucard's chambers beckoned him in, the slight chill - ever-present in these quarters - springing unruly goose bumps over his flesh. Despite himself, he felt himself moving inward, and the door clicked softly shut behind him.

Alucard was lounging in his chair, the amused smile playing out over feminine lips. Walter had gotten used to his strange attire and girlish features; they somehow seemed oddly fitting on the creature whose sole purpose in un-life seemed to be to create annoyances for the young butler. Arching his brow, Walter's lips parted to speak, but Alucard beat him to it.

"How interesting," the vampire said, shifting one leg atop the other and leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair as he regarded the boy. "I was beginning to wonder if you would come tonight."

Irritation flared anew, and he felt himself tightening despite his best efforts to keep calm. "I'm really in no mood," he said curtly. "I'm not even sure why I bothered coming."

"Because you have a question," the vampire said off-handedly, the leisurely tone in his voice only serving to fuel the decrease of Walter's quickly dwindling patience.

"You seem so sure of yourself," Walter said irritably.

"I am."

"Then what, pray tell, do I want to ask?"

An infuriatingly smug and defiant smirk was Alucard's only answer.

"You are going to drive me mad," Walter hissed between his teeth.

Alucard laughed. "Is that so?"

"I don't have the patience tonight," Walter snapped, turning towards the door, but as he extended his arm towards the handle, Alucard appeared before him like the shifting of shadows, the perpetual glow of his crimson eyes matching the gray green of the butler's own.

"Don't be so hasty, little Angel," the nosferatu purred, resting a hand lightly at Walter's shoulder, fingers playing lightly with his throat, gently tracing a line around the injury lying beneath bandages. "If you have a question to ask, I want to hear you ask it."

"I didn't come here to ask questions, I came to--"

"To what?"

"To..." Walter stared at the other, anger pulsing hard in tune with his heartbeat before he roughly pushed the vampire's hand aside and jerked the door ajar. "Forget it."

"You are wondering what's coming next," Alucard said as the butler started towards the hall. "You know just as I do that the pathetic excuse for a child of the night we killed was no more than another puppet, dancing on the strings of it's Master."

Walter halted, glancing over his shoulder, a slight frown of thought on his features.

Alucard smirked, leaning against the cold bricks as he regarded the young man with a satisfaction aglow in his inhuman oculars. "Isn't that what you came to ask about?"

"If I wanted to ask," Walter retorted, "I'd have asked."

"Oho," the vampire mused, bridging the distance between them with two small steps, his deceptively fragile form so close that Walter could feel that strange and unsettling cold lick across his skin like a physical caress. Alucard peered up at him, grinning; their faces mere millimeters apart, he said softly, "What would you ask me, little Angel?"

Walter stared down into the other's face, irritation mingling with curiosity, and something else... something... foreign, yet familiar at once. His eyes narrowed; was he drawing closer? At this rate, they would--

The sound of the phone ringing abruptly jarred Walter from whatever spell he had been under, and he nearly jumped, sliding past the vampire whose eyes followed him with a sort of primal hunger. Shivering beneath vest and dress shirt, he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, never so glad to hear Arthur's voice in his life.

"We've got a situation."

Walter let the cold numbness that had seized him wash away, turning to look for Alucard, but when his eyes traced the room, the vampire was already gone.


	5. Seduction

_**A/N: **__As of 2.13.08, this chapter has been almost completely re-vamped. I've been going through chapter by chapter and making minor changes, and this one is the first that I really sat down and decided I disliked. If there are any parts that seem choppy or lacking, feel free to let me know. Pointers and observations are always welcome. :)_

* * *

The transport dropped them off a relatively safe distance from their destination as Walter and Alucard, donned in usual attire and bearing the weight of near palpable tension, walked down the cleared city streets of London and towards the train station. The police had evacuated everything within a five block radius; the wail of sirens and the bustle of the crowds being held behind yellow warning tape filled the air and mingled with the frigid wintry haze. Alucard's eyes were alight with anticipation and bloodlust, and Walter knew why. Even his lesser sense of smell could pick up the scent of blood hanging heavy in the air.

The train station had come under siege sometime during the later hours of a overcast Thursday afternoon, immediately forcing all shuttles to a screeching halt. The station had been closed off, sealed from within by some sort of glyph that sent the entire interior aglow with such strength it could be seen resonating from the streets. At once, Hellsing's services had been requested, and Arthur had sent his agents to work without hesitation.

As they drew closer, the familiar glow became more prominent and visible, this time accompanied by a faint electrical hum. Walter gave a glance to his companion, who merely continued his casual stride down the sidewalk, paying little attention to the hordes of police who had surrounded the building from a wide perimeter and watched it as if it would explode any second. Walter could hear him chuckling; he always found mortals caught in the throes of their fear amusing and disgusting at the same time.

The silence was fitting, even as they climbed the stairs of station and reached the glass doors, which Walter reached forward to open, but Alucard's small hands caught his, halting him. Frowning, he looked to the vampire who merely smiled in return, extending his own gloved digits to touch the glass. An electrical current immediately singed his fingers from their joints, the smell of burning flesh permeating the air as Walter crinkled his nose in distaste. The vampire laughed as the lost appendages regenerated, and pushed the Angel of Death back, aiming the Casull towards the glass and firing.

Glass shattered, and the faint electrical hum died. "Oh, they're getting daring. Ready, little Angel?"

The boy gave a blank look to his companion, who chuckled before stepping through the broken glass and into the depths of the train station.

The reek of blood and death was overwhelming. Bodies lay strewn across the marble floors, crimson staining the walls and benches, over arrival and departure timetables and across countertops, appendages severed from bodies littered mercilessly across the interior of the station. Not a single thing moved or breathed. Everything had been completely desolated.

"What a waste," Walter murmured.

Alucard, looking ironically angelic in his pure white garb, the fluffy hat atop his long mane slightly swaying, tilted his head towards the boy. A dark smile twisted youthful lips. "Unsettled? You can go wait outside, if you wish. I doubt this will take long."

"No," he said irritably.

Alucard chuckled again, shrugging his shoulders indifferently as he stepped amongst the bodies of the dead, the river of innocent blood at his feet given no greater thought than if it had merely been dirt or dust. Walter set his lips in a firm line, clenching his jaw as he followed after.

As they descended towards the loading bay, Walter's hands tightened, monofilament wires tensing at ready impatiently. Here, too, everyone had been massacred, their faces etched in the agony of their last moments alive, wide-eyed stares seeking a reason for their senseless deaths. Children, women, the elderly - none had been spared.

The sound - a familiar one, one that set a knot of disgust building in the pit of Walter's stomach - rose from the carnage. It was unmistakable, a sickening sort of noise that made a shiver crawl up his spine. It was the sound of a vampire feeding. Low moans interrupted by short, brief sobs swirled up into the otherwise silent ghost station, a macabre and frightening song of a dying victim slowly being drained. Walter started forward, looking for the source of the sound with urgency.

Alucard had already located the target, and was watching with interest as the form of a kneeling woman, the details of her figure indiscernible amongst baggy black clothing stained with blood, clutched her writhing human victim - another woman, in her middle years, blood trickling in a thick river from the mouth of the vampiress pressed to her throat. Her eyes were wide, pleading as they found Walter and his companion, hope registering in oculars hazy with blood loss and fatigue. She stretched a hand towards them as if the gesture would pull them closer. Her other hand clutched a small, limp shape on the ground before her; Walter's chest tightened painfully as he realized it was a small boy, no older than five mangled beyond recognition, the only discernable thing remaining the hand his mother held onto for dear life.

"You bloody monster," he breathed between clenched teeth.

The vampiress did not look up from her ministrations. As the last of the woman's strength betrayed her, her tears stopped, her head lolling forward to hang limp, blood-dampened hair draped over her face and hiding her lifeless stare from view. The vampiress gave a sigh of pleasure, letting the corpse fall from her arms atop the body of the boy, before she languidly stretched to her feet.

Walter rose his gloved hands, a near maniacal and bloodthirsty smile seizing his lips. "Do me the pleasure of dying slowly," he said, voice dangerously calm as near ethereal wires stretched from his command and began an intricate pattern in the blood-strewn contents of the station.

The woman jerked her head toward the sound of Walter's voice, finally broken away from her blood-induced trance of ecstasy. By the time she'd seen the oncoming assault of wires, it was too late; monofilament wrought muscle from bone, cleaved through flesh and sent blood dancing into the air like a grotesque fountain. The vampire hadn't had time to so much as scream as her body fell to minced pieces of flesh with a sickening _thunk._ Completely dismembered and torn to pieces, she looked more like meat than the remnants of a once-human body. Giving a "tch" of distaste, Walter shook his head and angled his head toward Alucard, who stood motionless, that cheshire cat grin on his girlish lips.

"The same symbol," Walter mused, ignoring the look on the nosferatu's face as he gestured towards the pulsating crimson light identical to that of the puppeteer from the incident in the village. What was the purpose of these things? The sigil scrolled across the entire length of the wall to their right was splashed with blood from the masses that'd been murdered here. "What does it mean?"

"I _could_answer your questions, but... Sorry, I don't talk with my food. I only eat it."

Walter's eyes jerked back to the gory scene in front of him. The vampiress had somehow pieced herself back together in record time; he hadn't even heard her stir. She was licking the blood from her fingers languidly, smiling at him in a self-assured manner, but there was boredom in her eyes. "Those things hurt," she said, glancing at his hands. "Where'd you get a toy like that? A runt like you should know better. You're gonna hurt yourself, one of these days." Her dark-rimmed eyes shifted from Walter, to Alucard, and she tilted her head.

"Oh," she said softly. "How interesting..."

Alucard smirked, intrigued by the reaction he had caused, lifting a brow in inquisition, but saying nothing as the vampiress began moving through the mess of bodies and limbs torn asunder, not so much as glancing down at her handiwork as she made her way across. Walter, miffed that he'd been so obviously dismissed, seized the opportunity to show her the error in her ways. Monofilament wires gave a sharp _whiz_ as they descended upon the blood-soaked monster. He waited for the inevitable tensing, the satisfying strike of wire slicing through it's target -- wait, she was...

"You certainly are a nuisance," came the quiet exhale at his neck from behind.

Wires danced, slicing through the air behind him with precision and accuracy that seemed to defy logic. This time, his speed and reaction time must have caught her off guard, for he felt the wires tighten around flesh; her arm. With a quick yank, a brilliant splash of blood spurted from behind him, and he side-stepped away, turning to glance at the result of his craftsmanship.

The woman had a crazed smile on her face, her missing limb severed from the shoulder down. She gripped the bleeding wound as she laughed, her eyes wide and bereft of any form of sanity, hungrily staring upon Alucard with purpose and completely ignoring the Angel of Death. "Does the sight of my blood stir your interest?" She asked, her voice not strained in the least despite her injuries. "Does it make you want to bleed me dry, with my throat at your mouth? Tell me, pretty thing. _Tell me_!"

Alucard humored her with a smirk, pulling the Casull from the depths of his coat and letting it hang from his hand at his side, motioning with the other for Walter to halt. The Angel of Death said nothing, at a loss by this strange turn of events - was the woman mad? He let the wires hang slack, but at ready; this one was obviously unpredictable. His eyes briefly flickered to the sigil; the last had died once the symbol had been partially destroyed by Alucard's bullets. Perhaps it would work in a similar fashion with this one...

"The occupants of the train station will be reanimating as ghouls shortly, little Angel," Alucard said, laying the sweetness on thick in his girlish voice.

"I'm capable of doing more than simple ghoul duty," he said.

"Listen to what I say," Alucard interjected more sharply, directing a no-nonsense look devoid of all it's usual humor towards the boy. Surprised, Walter paused a moment, staring into that eerily glowing crimson gaze. "Start at the entrance to the station, and don't let any of them escape outside. The mortals will wet themselves at the mere sight of walking corpses."

Walter stared dully into the face of the vampiress with unmasked irritation for long moments that ticked by like days. At long last, he gave a frustrated scoff under his breath before starting past her from whence he'd came. "Don't waste time, Alucard," he said scathingly, waving dismissively as he strode away.

His footsteps faded into the distance, and Alucard gave a pleased smile to his opposition. She had begun regenerating her lost limb; internally, he felt elation and anticipation rising and setting his blood to boil. It'd been so long since he'd had the opportunity to exercise his more... interesting traits. Arthur did not seem particularly eager to see the results of the Hellsing family's alchemic ministrations, but Alucard was much more willing.

"So," he said, leisurely starting towards the woman with the unfailing smile on his feminine lips. "Do you have a name?"

"Does it matter?" she asked in turn, slow footsteps taking her forward as well as she, too, started forth to meet him.

"Is there any particular reason you decided to massacre this herd of sheep?" He asked, as casually as if the topic of discussion was nothing more than the weather or a cup of tea.

"Who knows?" She replied, boredom and disinterest apparent in her voice. "The purpose doesn't matter, does it, pretty thing? Now that you are here... we can finally have fun." She halted before her destination, reaching her hands forth to uptake Alucard's cheeks, and tilting his head up towards hers. "Isn't that right?"

"Is that so?"

"Yes," she purred, whole-heartedly, kneeling down before him and placing her hands on his abdomen, her eyes furtively seeking what she desperately wanted. "You know, don't you? You have immortality, an endless stretch of time full of waiting and seeking and never finding. But I found you." She gave the most triumphant smile, a victorious gleam entering her eyes as her fingers slid up his chest, over his shoulders, curving in at his feminine throat beneath his curtain of black hair. "You will fill my need, pretty thing. You are who I have been waiting for. The one I..." Her voice trailed off into nothingness.

A malicious smile full of bared teeth glittered darkly on Alucard's face. "You poor creature. Left in perpetual darkness, slithering about in shadow, bereft of dignity or purpose," he said, voice mocking, as he tilted her chin upward with one finger. Her eyes were hazy and glossy as if in a trance, Alucard's words a mere trickle in a river of mindless delusion and self-wrought hallucinations. Whatever he was to her, it was all in her head, and he intended to find out. "You are pathetic," he sighed, seizing her throat in a crushing grip.

She lurched to her feet with strangled sound, eyes widening with a look of surprise and disbelief. She attempted to push him away, trying to pry his digits from her throat out of instinct, but could do nothing as the cold press of the Casull entered her mouth left gaping in an attempt to scream beyond his hold. He pulled the trigger; a satisfying splash of blood and gore washing over his face and onto his pristine coat; he smiled, dropping the headless body onto the stained marble at his feet, letting it lie limply with the others.

The bodies of the fallen station-goers were beginning to stir, as if on cue, as the blood of their master slowly pooled outward from the headless corpse. Alucard wiped the barrel of the Casull off on the sleeve of his coat as he examined the shifting and writhing bodies of the ghouls starting to pull themselves up from their slumber of death. Eyes dancing, fangs gleaming in the light, he reloaded with a smile.

"Don't let me down, little Angel."


	6. Feeding the Beast

Razor sharp wires tore indiscriminately through the bodies of the dead. Blood and gore flew as the audible whip of strings was buried beneath the groans of an unending flow of ghouls. Men, women, and children, their faces all blank and lifeless, blindly staggered towards the object of their desire, the youth cutting through their ranks with what seemed to be minimal effort.

Walter had positioned himself against the doorway to prevent a stray corpse from stumbling it's way past him and into the public. Though the authorities had some strange, half-cocked idea of what was occurring within the confines of the train station, the depths of the situation were utterly lost to them. Realization that nosferatu and ghouls were roaming in the night in their very city would be an earth-shattering revelation, one Walter was present to prevent. He had no qualms about this part of his duty; in fact, it had grown to become something of a warped pleasure. The feeling of sinew and bone, flesh and muscle shattering at his command was... exhilarating. Death was no more than God's gift to humanity, an end to an existence not meant to span across hundreds of years, not meant to go on forever... Walter understood.

Perhaps he was a little morbid.

Slowly but steadily, the number of moaning, vacant-eyed creatures was decreasing. The mass of soulless zombies stumbling forward, saliva dripping from slack-jawed mouths followed the will of their master, pushing forth even as their arms were sliced from them. If their legs were cut off, they merely began to squirm forward on their bellies. If nothing else, they were persistent. The rhythm of death became a sort of dance, his feet moving instinctively, body flowing as he manipulated the wires from one place to the next, fending off the impending doom of incoming jaws from one ghoul as he sliced the head off another.

He had cut his way through more than half; he could almost see through the scattering of rotting corpses into the distance of the station, where he had left Alucard with their target. A minute snarl touched his lips as he thought of the vampiress again. She had rubbed him the wrong way. He jerked his hands viciously and three severed fingers dropped to the floor at his feet. It didn't matter; the zombie-like creature did not so much as blink as it lunged forward again.

Walter brushed the back of his gloved hand against his cheek to remove a smudge of blood as yet another lifeless monster collapsed into a worthless heap upon the tile. Breathing a sigh, he stepped over the pile of dust, narrowing his eyes sharply as he scanned the station's loading dock for his comrade, beginning to jog forward as he dispatched the last of the throng in the lobby. Recalling the wires to him, hurried footsteps took him closer.

He halted at a good distance, brows perking in surprise at the sight he upheld. The vampiress was on her knees before Alucard's white-clad form, vacancy in that wide-eyed stare. She was licking blood that dripped down from a wound somewhere at Alucard's shoulder like a cat. Walter slowly began his approach, caution in every step. "What are you doing?"

The set of crimson eyes tilted towards the Angel of Death from beneath those midnight black bangs, the eternally humored gleam making Alucard's feminine form look all the more out of place in the midst of the bloody carnage. He gave a welcoming smile. "Oh, back already?"

"What are you doing?" Walter repeated, shifting his gray-green eyes back down to the kneeling woman diligently licking the trickle of blood that descended from his arm.

"I apparently have the horrible habit of playing with my food before I eat it," came the chillingly cheerful reply. "She isn't quite as interesting as I presumed. Very disappointing, really, though with the sigil still glowing, she can infinitely regenerate."

Walter wasn't quite sure how to respond, so he said nothing, his face unreadable as he shifted between the prostrate woman consumed by her task and the girlish figure allowing her the pleasure.

"Are you jealous, Angel? Would you like to join her?"

"No," he said, shooting the vampire a dark look. "Kill her and be done with it. We don't have all night for you to be a bloody fool."

"I have all night," he chuckled low.

"Pretty thing," came the deep, throaty moan of the vampiress as she ceased her tongue's ministrations and clutched his sleeve with both hands, eyes pleading. "Please, pretty thing. Let me have it. Give me what I want. Let me--"

"Shh," the nosferatu laid a hand upon those pouting lips, ceasing her chatter. She stared up at him eagerly, but his eyes were already once more settled upon the Angel of Death.

"We dance nicely on these strings, little Angel, don't we?" Alucard asked slowly, the smile broadening across his youthful lips. He bent low, stroking the throat of the dark-skinned creature, eliciting a low, deep sigh from her lips. She tilted her head back, exposing her throat, and Alucard's fangs gleamed like the brilliance of the moon as he smiled maliciously, sadistically.

Walter felt anger burning in him, fiery hot and panging sharply with the beat of his heart as his chest constricted. He was sick of the vampire's riddles, concealing his suspicions and insights despite their value; whatever the purpose of these bloody massacres were, Walter was positive the god forsaken beast knew more than he was letting on. Yet, the dull ache of fury ebbed and washed away as ivory white fangs buried themselves in the dark, fragile skin of the woman's throat from behind her.

His eyes were locked upon her body as she writhed, her hands futilely clutching to him as if she could wrench his overpowering strength from her with her grip. Panicked screams, so vehement and chilling, echoed throughout the empty station, nothing but the dust and remains of the ghouls to answer. Alucard was merciless, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other keeping her head in place as his fangs ravaged her throat, thick trickles of crimson staining her clothing and matting her dark hair to her flesh. Her struggles became less fervent, weaker; her glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling as her cries softened to breathy moans. Her face looked almost as if she were once more entranced, held firmly in the grip of a tender and passionate lover.

It wasn't until the last of her had been consumed hungrily by the white-coated girl that Walter could tear his eyes from them, disgusted as he closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the ground. He could hear Alucard licking the blood from her body, then the soft shuffle as he laid her down to rest. Three shots from Casull; the bright, luminous sigil abruptly and suddenly, died.

Long moments of silence lingered between them before Walter could allow his eyes to re-open. Alucard, wiping fluid from his mouth with an index finger, smirked enticingly at him.

He didn't need to speak. He knew exactly what the vampire wanted to say without him ever opening his mouth.

With a disgusted sigh, Walter turned towards the doors of the train station wordlessly. As he pushed aside the double doors and felt the rush of frigid winter air greet him, he felt himself shiver, though not from the cold.


	7. Unusual Courtship

Arthur Hellsing leaned back in his chair, left foot tapping a rhythmic beat on the floor, regarding his servants with a grim expression. "One hundred and forty three dead," he breathed over the rim of his glass before taking another half-hearted swig.

Walter studied his feet with an intensity that spoke volumes about his thoughts on the matter. His face set in a frown of anger and regret, he said, "All dead before we arrived on scene."

"The target?"

"Silenced."

Arthur sighed, setting his glass down and sitting up in his chair, folding his hands over his desk as he glanced over the report on his desk. "And the sigil?"

"Destroyed."

"What _is_ this nonsense?" Sir Hellsing gave an exasperated sound, turning his chair to glance out the window. "This is more than mere coincidence."

Walter tilted his head slightly to the right. Alucard was standing against the bookshelves, arms leisurely crossed over his chest as he studied Arthur. Feeling the butler's eyes upon him, he returned the look, half-smirking.

Wretched thing. Walter had returned to the estate before him, even though he had known that leaving the vampire to himself was most likely a poor idea. He hadn't even cared. He was certain, now, that Alucard knew more about the situation than he was willing to divulge. What purpose was there in keeping it to himself? Did he want innocent people to be slaughtered? Was there something else going on behind the scenes that the creature _wanted_ to let happen?

The thought was an unsettling one.

Arthur's voice drew him from his thoughts and back to the present. "Have you found any information on the origins of these glyphs yet, Walter?"

"No, Sir," he said with a grimace.

"Keep looking. There _has_ to be something. If we uncover this, the rest will fall into place, I'm sure."

"Of course."

Sir Hellsing turned back to face his desk, blowing an exhale of cigar smoke into the air as he considered the vampire and butler. After a long moment of silence, he said, "Alucard."

"Yes, Master."

"What do you know of the situation?"

The form of the young girl shifted her weight from the shelves, straightening and taking a step forward. "I cannot say, exactly, where the glyphs are from, but their purpose seems to be to serve as a… collection device, of sorts."

"Collection device?"  
"Yes," he said, amusement sparkling alongside intrigue in his crimson oculars. "The blood of those slaughtered in the vicinity of the glyph feed it, so to speak, though why, I'm not sure."

"Where does it go?"

"I don't know," he replied.

"How do you know this?" Walter asked, raising a brow suspiciously.

"Intuition, perhaps," Alucard answered, smiling slyly as those faintly aglow red orbs shifted towards the butler.

Arthur smashed the butt of his cigar into his ash tray before rising, slapping his palms down atop the desk. "I want you to thoroughly investigate this," he said sharply. "Don't leave any stone unturned. Start with the sigils and work your way out from there. You are to begin immediately."

"Sir," Walter said, bowing his head in understanding. Beside him, Alucard merely chuckled.

"Now go scour the libraries," Arthur murmured, picking up his coat from the back of his chair and shrugging into it. "I have business to attend to."

"Business?" Walter inquired skeptically, raising a brow in suspicion.

Arthur purposely avoided his gaze as he settled into his coat and downed the rest of his brandy. "Yes, business. With Islands, for your information. Get to work, butler! What do I pay you for?"

The libraries were almost always empty and quiet within the Hellsing estate. Walter had the sounds of silence and volumes of books to himself to scour in search of any information he could tie to the relevance of his case. He had already attempted drawing connections to the two vampires who had been silenced by himself and Alucard, but there were little - if any - to be found. Past cases of alchemy and the occult dealing with sigils and glyphs were reviewed; there were no consistent conclusions to be drawn there, either. It left him frustrated and annoyed beyond reason.

He was leafing through his sixth text concerning the principles of alchemy when an uninvited guest made his silent appearance, marked by the noticeable and sudden chill that crept up the butler's spine.

"Go away, Alucard."

"Is that any way to greet me?"

"It is when I'm busy."

"You don't seem all too busy to me," the vampire mused, mock insult in his voice. "You are looking in worthless texts which will award you no greater insight than a rock."

"And how would you know?" He lifted his head, but didn't glance over his shoulder to where the nosferatu stood.

"Intuition," he repeated.

"I don't believe you."

"You don't need to."

"Get out. I have work to do." He returned his gaze to the text in his hands, pangs of irritation and frustration washing through him like the tide. How could one person _be_ so annoying? It seemed impossible, yet Alucard had absolutely no difficulty.

"I don't recall this space being off-limits to me," came the taunting reply, and phantom fingers traced a trail across the nape of his neck, sending Walter's hair standing on end. He barely managed to suppress a shiver.

"You are just here to annoy me, and are distracting," the butler snapped haughtily.

"My, my, what a temper," Alucard said quietly, placing his hands at the back of Walter's chair and leaning forward to that his feminine face was mere millimeters from the boy's shoulder. The chill that accompanied him was haunting. "Why so uptight, little Angel? Would you like me to help you relax?"  
"I want you to get the bloody hell out of here!" Walter slammed the book onto the table, wrenching himself to his feet and turning to stare into the face of the vampire. Those crimson oculars were aglow with eagerness and humor as they observed this outburst, as if enjoying every single moment of his infuriation. "What are you smiling about?"

"I find you interesting," Alucard replied simply.

"Find something else to be interested about."

"No. You'll do just fine."

Before he knew what he was doing, Walter lifted his hand and struck the girlish face right in the jaw. The vampire, for all his strength and undoubted capabilities, simply allowed himself to fall with the impact, long black hair hiding his face like a curtain. When he finally rose his head, those feminine lips were curled in a smile, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

His knuckles ached. He'd most likely shattered at least two bones. It was as if his fist had collided with a rock; the vampire licked the blood from his lips with that snaking tongue before the butler snapped back to himself. What use was there in striking him? It would only serve to amuse the other even more, and betrayed his impatience and frustration. He couldn't go around smacking the bastard every time he got on Walter's nerves.

Alucard placed a cold, gloved finger atop Walter's lips. "Your anger is delicious."

Walter shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond without fueling the fire. Alucard had surely been pushing him to his limits lately, but he was positive his annoyances didn't warrant a slug in the face. Even so...

"This is the first time you've been at a loss for words, little Angel," Alucard said with a thoughtful grin. "I think I like it."

Grumbling under his breath, he pulled the nosferatu to his feet and bent to pick up the little white hat which had fallen from those dark tresses. As he replaced it atop his head, the vampire smirked.

"What is so--"

Walter had no chance to finish the sentence; before he realized what was happening, he had been slammed back against the bookshelves, and the unusually cool yet heat-inducing shape of the feminine, white-coated girl was pressed firmly against his chest, entrapping him. He didn't even have time to open his mouth to bark a sharp inquiry when Alucard lifted his head, pressing his lips to Walter's ear.

"One learns very interesting things, when drinking the blood of another," he purred, the hand at Walter's chest sliding downward towards his abdomen, where it rested. "The reason these texts give you no information on the sigil is because there _isn't_ any. Not here. No amount of research will tell you where they come from, or what they do."

"How do you--"

"Shh, little Angel," Alucard interrupted, laying his gloved finger up the lips of the butler once again, his own mouth brushing against Walter's throat as he spoke. "There is a puppeteer… pulling the strings of his little puppets and making them dance. He is collecting energy from the sigils in the form of human life… And when it's been gathered to his satisfaction…"  
"…yes?"

Those teasing lips curved seductively, the self-assured smirk sinking in through Walter and making his skin crawl as the girlish hand rose, stroking his cheek. "And then…"

"I…" Walter's head felt as if he were swimming, lost in a sea and the currents of his thoughts. No. He had to focus. Alucard was… "What will happen to the energy?"

"That is the question, isn't it…" The feminine chuckle teased the young butler to the core. His lips were millimeters away, the coolness of his skin emanating from his deceptively small form such a stark contrast from the human heat of Walter's own.

"Soon, little Angel. Soon, everything will come together, and the Puppet Master will put on a show both of us can enjoy."

Walter blinked, and Alucard was gone.


	8. Down The Rabbit Hole

_**A/N:** This chapter underwent heavy reconstruction, especially towards the end of the chapter. As I went back and re-read the story, I realized that I wanted to take it down a different path than I had originally set it up to follow... and thus, the proverbial bulldozers were summoned. Hopefully it'll prove more true to character and interesting this way. As per the usual, comments and critiques are welcome._

* * *

The quiet that had descended over Walter's bedroom was broken only by the soft patter of rain upon the windowpane. Despite Alucard's guidance, he had decided to pursue his research in hopes of finding some sort of information within the various texts and volumes he'd uncovered. One weathered book lay in his lap as he sat slumped in a chair beside the window, his eyes half-lidded. It took entirely too much effort to keep himself awake. Yawning behind his hand, he stretched and tossed the book upon the bed, rising to his feet and giving a soft groan.

"Nothing," he growled to himself. He had found nothing, not a single clue to the origins of the sigil or it's purpose, nothing hinting at the ritual or the possible need for such a huge amount of human life. Rubbing the bleariness from his eyes, he started for the door. It was time to procure some coffee.

He had only made it as far as the dresser when he noticed his guest; Alucard stood, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed over his chest, that eternal smile painted over his lips. Frowning, Walter moved to push past him, but the nosferatu laid a small, gloved hand upon his chest to halt him.

"Still pillaging those dusty old books? I thought I told you they will be of no use to you."

"You did," Walter replied, sighing as he took a step back and regarded the vampire with a bland look. "It doesn't mean I believe you."

"Do you think I would lie to you, little Angel?"

"Yes," he replied flatly.

Alucard's girlish face contorted in a look of mock insult. "I'm hurt," he said.

"What a bloody shame. Mind moving? I need to get some coffee before I pass out." Walter started past him once more, but the white-clad girl stepped before him to bar his path.

"Alucard…," he began in a growl.

"Wait. Just wait, and listen to what I have to say." When satisfied that the young butler was listening, the jovial and humored smile once more curled those pouting lips upwards. "Very good."

"Get on with it," Walter warned.

Alucard's petite form shifted briefly, moving towards him as if to whisper secretively, though there were no others in the corridor outside Walter's bedroom. "I understand how badly you want to uncover the source of this mysterious case of massacres," he purred quietly, crimson eyes gleaming beneath angular brows tilted ever-so-slightly, as if to suggest the things his lips wouldn't dare. "And you understand that there are things that I want from you, and things I may have to give that could aid you in your search."

"Such as?"

The smile on the vampire's lips became all too much like a sneer. "Do you truly wish to play coy, little Angel?"

"I'm not in the mood for games, nor do I want to strike a bargain with you when dealing with _those_ kind of goods. Get out of my damn way or I'll chop your demented little head right off." Walter roughly pushed the nosferatu aside, starting down the hallway towards the kitchens.

He could hear the soft sound of Alucard's footsteps behind him, and mentally cringed. The vampire was utterly insatiable, though in some distant, warped way Walter refused to admit even to himself, their back-and-forth banter was somewhat… No. No, he couldn't allow himself to slip into such a train of thought. He glanced over his shoulder inconspicuously, then frowned; Alucard was gone.

"You should mind where you're walking."

Walter turned back around to find himself staring upwards at a ridiculously tall man, sinewy and thin, nearly painfully so - he looked no more than skin and bones beneath the black uniform that draped his lithe form. He bent a hand down with a speed that made the Angel of Death's head spin; as soon as those boney fingers had been placed upon his shoulder, he felt himself steeped in cold as if he had been thrust into a freezer. The wind was knocked from his lungs; blackness consumed his vision, leaving him disoriented and dazed. His fingers twitched reflexively to call forth his deadly monofilament wires, but he could not tell what he was aiming for. Faltering and stumbling in the darkness, he flailed wildly, sluggish from the mind-numbing cold.

_Don't fling those things so carelessly,_ came the smooth request of a feminine voice in the contents of his head, a familiar voice he recognized well.

"A-Alucard," he managed between clattering teeth. He halted his blind defense, stumbling to his hands and knees, and feeling firm ground beneath him. "What's g-going on?"

_Stay still, little Angel. It seems the Puppet Master finally cast his strings in our direction._

"What a-are you t-talking… about?" Walter stammered, casting his sight futilely from left to right. He had to be somewhere within the corridor, still; he could no longer feel the press of fingers at his shoulder from the freakishly tall man, but the ground was the same. He could hear nothing beyond the sound of his own panting breath.

_Do you still not understand?_ The voice was thick with amusement, the insanity and excitement dripping from every word that filled his head. _It's begun. All the players have assembled, and it's curtain call. …Don't fret, little Angel. I won't let anything bad happen to you._

"You're mad," he managed hoarsely, trying to force himself upward, but his violently trembling limbs refused to obey. He was growing numb. What in blazes was going on? Were they after Arthur? His chest tightened at the thought. Alucard was bound to protect the lineage; he would, no doubt, be on his way to protect Sir Hellsing if he was not already.

Right…?

Was this all a ploy? Had Alucard purposely withheld information about the 'Puppet Master' and the sigils in order to see Arthur Hellsing's end, and his own freedom? The cold that had afflicted his body suddenly and sharply clutched his heart.

Alucard's manic laughter filled his mind. _So little faith in me,_ he purred, and Walter felt sick with rage and disgust.

"St-stop playing with m-me and get to Ar…Arthur!" He spat, though the sharpness was lost amongst the clatter of his teeth, clipping his words. Cursing profusely under his breath, he hugged himself, feeling as though he were turning into a human popsicle in this strange, overwhelming cold, lost in the depths of blackness.

_Rest, Walter._

The voice, this time, was much more masculine and deep, resonating not from his vampiric partner, but someone - some_thing_ - else. As if on command, the cold began to numb him away, and he had no choice but to surrender to it's frigid and empty embrace.

* * *

"Wake up. Wake up. It's time to wake up!"

The words floated into the fringes of Walter's consciousness as he felt himself stirring from the coma-like state of sleep, the grogginess of his slumber making his limbs feel heavy, and his mind clouded. A voice… a young girl's voice was calling to him.

"Walter. Please wake up, brother!"

His eyes slowly opened, and he winced against the sunlight pouring in through the windows at his left, curtains drawn. The sounds of seagulls and water - the ocean, the tide lapping against the beach - were audible. He sat up slowly, clutching his pounding head and trying to orient himself.

"Are you alright, brother? You look unwell…"

Lifting his head, Walter felt his face slightly contort in perplexity. A young girl, no older than seven or eight, stood at his bedside. She was dressed expensively in frilly white and blue, stockings and shoes far too pristine for a child her age. Her golden curls shimmered in the light as she leaned slightly forward at the edge of the bed, countenance full of concern on his behalf.

"Where am I?"

The girl tilted her head slightly, confusion registering in her large blue eyes. "Walter, don't be silly."

"Where is Arthur?" His fingers flexed; the gloves were gone.

"Walter," she chided, "stop it. You're scaring me. Get dressed and get ready to go downstairs. Father is waiting."

This said, she waited no longer before turning with an accusatory look and starting for the door. A soft click as it shut behind her, and she was gone.

Frowning after her, he slung his legs over the side of the bed and rose, running his hands through his hair. He had a nasty bump; the bruise stung as his fingers brushed over it above his hairline. Grimacing, he surveyed his new surroundings. The room was well-furnished; his canopy bed lay at one corner of the room, with a desk, chair, and dresser. A vanity stood beside the large glass doors leading out to a balcony. The view was striking, overlooking a quiet and seemingly private beach, sun gleaming over the horizon. It was little after dawn by the hang of the sun in the horizon.

He had been stripped of clothes, and dressed in pajama bottoms, top left bare. Halting before the vanity, he stared at his reflection, his gray-green eyes glaring back. Fingers gently ran over his shoulder, where the tall, sinewy man had touched him, and sighed softly. The imprint of his fingers remained upon Walter's flesh in the form of a deep purple bruise. Frowning, he rummaged through the dresser and the drawers of the vanity, but his gloves and other possessions were nowhere to be found.

Procuring clothing that looked to be about his size, he dressed quickly in a white dress shirt and slacks that made him feel as though he were a young boy again, being dragged to church in his Sunday best, and discarded the coat atop the bed before starting for the door. He had to locate Sir Hellsing.

The hallway was empty. Sending a precautionary glance left and right, he slipped out into the corridor, on his guard. The eerie quiet of the place was unnerving as he gripped the doorknob of the first room beside his, and opened it. The curtains were hanging over the windows, and there seemed to be no one within. Clicking on the light, he surveyed it's interior quickly - it was another bedroom, not much different than his own. Closing the door behind him, he started towards the next when a sharp tug at the back of his trousers sent him spinning.

"Walterrrrrr!"

It was the blue-and-white dressed child, glaring up at him in exasperation. Letting out a soft exhale, he chided himself wordlessly; how had he not heard her?

"Walter, what _are_ you doing? I told you, Father is waiting downstairs! Let's go!" Without waiting for his reply, the small girl took his hand into her own and began guiding him down the corridor. Seeing no other alternative, he followed after.

The hallway lead to a grand staircase, spiraling downward into an intricate and tasteful foyer. The décor was lavish and expensive in taste and design; the entire manor in which he had found himself within simply screamed of wealth and dignity. His small guide practically skipped down the length of the marble stairs, hopping at the bottom and turning to beam at him triumphantly, as if she'd achieved an amazing feat. Walter looked at her uncertainly.

She wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at him. "Stop making faces at me, or I'll make them back. You certainly are _rude_ this morning. Stop staring and let's go!"

As they drew nearer to their destination, Walter could hear the sound of music playing through the walls getting closer. Classical, dignified; Beethoven, or Mozart. The dulled notes traveled through the hall and to the small procession, accompanying their quest, until the small girl threw the doors at the end of the hall aside, and cheerfully skittered inside.

The sitting room was well-lit by sunlight and the glow of fire ablaze in the hearth to ward off the slight chill. As with the rest of the mansion, the furnishings were exquisite and impeccably tasteful; sitting within one of the several chairs by the hearth was a man well-dressed, patting the head of the over-eager, curly-haired young girl. His crystalline, piercing eyes rose to settle upon Walter, and he smiled.

"About time you awoke, boy. Come, take a seat with your old man."

Walter froze; was this some kind of game? It was _Arthur. _'Old man'? Was he drunk? Drugged?Perhaps Walter was still dreaming, or hallucinating. The throb that accompanied the bruise at his head was, after all, an adequate explanation… He found himself automatically obliging, seating himself across from the man as the girl climbed into his lap, smiling adoringly and swinging her legs over his.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked.

"Fine," he replied.

"Did Charlotte tease you when waking you this morning? I told her to be gentle, after yesterday's incident. You hit your head quite hard," he said, glancing at the wriggling child in his lap with a considering expression.

Walter hesitated, then shook his head.

Arthur ruffled the girl's hair affectionately, and she giggled. "Good. Well then, I suppose your youth allows you to bounce back pretty quickly."

Walter wasn't listening. He was staring into the flames of the hearth licking across the stony interior of it's confines, crackling quietly as it consumed the logs at it's base. _What is going on?_

"Walter? Walter? Are you listening? Hey, Walter!"

Charlotte's voice stole him from his thoughts, and he looked down at her standing at his knees, leaning forward and peering into his face. "Don't ignore me!"

"Don't be obnoxious, Charlotte," Sir Hellsing chided, pulling her back into his lap, but his eyes lingered on Walter. "Are you sure you're alright, boy? You look a bit pale."

The Angel of Death stood from his seat, eyes narrowing a fraction as he stared down at the man and the girl with wariness and perplexity. "What is going on here? I've had enough of this game."

The man lifted a brow in surprise before frowning gently. "Whatever do you mean?"

"My patience is already worn thin, Arthur," he said. He couldn't be too forceful; there was always the possibility that Arthur was under the influence of whoever had rendered Walter unconscious, and the absence of Alucard was worrisome (not to mention irritating). He'd press just far enough to see if Arthur was playing along in some kind of game, or genuinely lost to... whatever illusion had been cast before their eyes. _(How had they gotten here? What purpose was there in setting up this ruse?)_

The man gently slid the girl from his lap, pushing her a pace away as he rose to his feet.

"What's gotten into you? Who is Arthur?" His frown deepened, and he moved as if to touch Walter's forehead. "Do you have a fever? Perhaps we ought to call the physician-"

Walter caught the affronting limb at the wrist, holding it delicately but with enough force to make his displeasure known. "Answer my questions, please." God help Alucard if he had something to do with this...

The brazen child grasped at Walter's pant sleeve, tugging insistently and glowering up at him as if he'd just taken a loli from a baby. "Let him go, Walter! Stop trying to bully Daddy!"

Walter gently nudged her away with his knee. To his dismay, her shoe caught awkwardly on the edge of the carpet and she lost her balance, causing her to fall back on her rear with a small thump. To make matters even worse, her reaction was to jut out her trembling lower lip, large eyes suddenly welling with tears. "W-Walter," she said quietly, in disbelief.

"Charlotte," Arthur sighed sympathetically, favoring the girl with a strained smile meant to be somewhat reassuring by the butler's observation. Walter had never pegged the man as the type to be patient and doting with children... and seeing him so natural with the girl only made the situation all the more surreal. It was becoming apparent that Sir Hellsing was not merely play-acting; whatever was going on had him thoroughly convinced he was someone he was not.

"Do you mind giving me my hand back now, son, or...?"

Coming back to himself, Walter let the man's hand drop, and Arthur knelt to help Charlotte to her feet; the girl tugged on his shirt in a gesture to be picked up, and was obliged. She buried her face in the collar of his shirt, sniffing demurely.

_What is going on…?_ He touched a hand to his head against the throbbing ache that pulsed in rhythm with his heart. _Alucard? Alucard, can you hear me?_ There was no answer. Where was that godforsaken bastard?_What the hell is going on here?_

"Walter... Maybe you should go back to bed. You look pale, and I hate to say it, but you're acting strangely-"

"I'm fine," he repeated again, this time a bit more sharply than intended. He needed to take a step back and examine the situation. At the very least, he had to ascertain where they'd been taken, and who had taken them. Finding a way out of this manor would be a good start--

"Mr. Haring!"

A voice from the door earned the attention of all three occupants of the room, turning in unison to uphold the same sight. An elderly woman dressed in the garb of a upper-class aristocrat, all frills and lace, had her hands on her hips and glowered furiously at Arthur.

"Mrs. Pennington," he replied, giving a brief look to Walter before returning his attentions back to the flustered woman, who was veritably having a cow. She was studying Walter with an intensity that spoke of disdain she didn't bother to disguise in the least.

"Mrs. Pennington," Haring repeated, attempting to draw her gaze. "What's the matter? Has something happened…"

His words were cut off by the entrance of another behind their flushed aristocratic houseguest - another woman, though this one much younger than that of her elderly counterpart. She was adorned in a white dress and petticoat lined with lace that contrasted sharply to her long, straight black hair. A pair of glittering dark eyes, sharp, and carrying a wisdom that far surpassed her age (fourteen at best), lay beneath a fringe of bangs. Of all things, a white corsage was tucked behind her ear into her hair. Yet out of all these observations, the feature which stood out the most on this petite, youthful girl was her lips, curled in a knowing smirk, lighting her face with amusement.

"Hello, Walter," she said pleasantly.

Walter felt his jaw drop.

…_Alucard._


	9. Defining Reality

_**A/N: **__As it's predecessors, this chapter has been heavily edited. As I stated before, upon returning to this fic, I realized that I wanted to take it to a completely different place, which... unfortunately, lead to a great deal of revision. Thanks in multitudes for your patience in dealing with me!_

* * *

"What is going on here?!"

The shrill and high-pitched demand of the Englishwoman cut through the quiet as she stepped into the lavishly furnished sitting room, shoulders squared in the typical fashion Walter had grown all too accustomed to seeing amongst the aristocratic. She dragged Alucard by the wrist behind her, leaving the girlish form of the vampire to flounder as she stormed towards the hearth where 'Father', 'daughter,' and 'son' stood. "Mr. Haring, are you quite finished lallygagging around this morning? We were _supposed_ to have a meeting over breakfast at seven. It is now ten-thirty. Ana and I were waiting for you for _hours!_" This was all stated in record time and with the scathing tone of a woman scorned. If one didn't know better, they might be prone to believe that this was the worst of all transgressions ever committed against this woman in her lifetime.

Arthur was stepping forth, attempting to smooth the haughty woman over when Alucard withdrew her hand, smoothing the dress Walter couldn't help but think looked utterly ridiculous on a vampire, regardless of what form they had taken. "Mother," she said sweetly, resting a hand at Mrs. Pennington's elbow. "It's alright. Don't interject."

"No, Ana," she chided down at Alucard, sharply. Walter arched a brow. _Ana? Mother? Don't even tell me that he is going along with this nonsense-- _"Walter, I'm particularly disappointed in you. Aren't you interested in what we so graciously arranged for you in the _least?_!"

Walter found himself faced with the fury of a woman's wrath - and a puffed up woman at that, high and mighty upon her horse of an over-fed ego as she stared down at him from the length of her nose.

And he was at a loss.

She seemed infuriated at his silence, and gave a huff, turning to glare down at her '_daughter,_' who was studying Walter wordlessly, impatience and displeasure glittering in her dark brown oculars. "Come, Ana. This boy is not fit to be wed to you. I'm sorry, Mr. Haring, but from this point forward, you should consider the marital agreement off." This said, she took Alucard - no, _Ana_, he growled mockingly to himself - by the hand and began dragging her towards the door.

Walter quite nearly choked. _Marital_ agreement? To _Alucard?_ Now he was certain he was trapped in some sort of nightmare.

Arthur started after her as Mrs. Pennington flounced through the doorway, the man shooting Walter a pleading look before trotting into the corridor. The Angel of Death tilted his gaze down to Charlotte, who was glowering in a pout, arms crossed and legs dangling over the edge of the chair.

"Aren't you going to go help your _giiirlfriend?_" She said haughtily.

Walter shot her a cold warning glare, but the girl merely gave a 'humph,' turning her head away and pouting. He made it as far as the door before she stopped him again, her tiny voice halting him mid-step.

"Wait!"

He stopped, but didn't turn. "What?"

"Walter…"

"What is it?"

There was a brief pause. "Walter, are you really okay? You're not being yourself."

He lowered his face, staring at his feet in silence before canting his head over his shoulder and gazing at her. She was looking at him expectantly, the innocence in her large brown eyes making him feel awkward and yet again at a loss for a response. What if this were more than an illusion… or if these were people also victims of a shared adversary? Puppets, dancing on the strings of their master? Hadn't Alucard alluded to something like that before? "I'm okay, Charlotte," he grudgingly said at last. "I'm just disoriented." He lightly touched his head, as if to write it off on the concussion he'd sustained during the course of his blackout.

She seemed relieved at once, a smile slowly finding her lips, and she nodded. "Are you okay now?"

"I think so."

"Walter?"

"Yes?"

"You still love Daddy, right?"

He felt uncomfortable, and averted his gaze, giving what she must've took as a nod, for she hopped off the chair happily and grasped him by the sleeve, smiling broadly. "I'm glad, Walter. Can we go upstairs? Daddy will bring Mrs. Pennington back soon, and I don't like her."

Though it effectively crushed any chances he would have to explore the mansion and see if he could sort out this mess, he had no choice but to agree. Perhaps the girl could give him some further insight into his circumstances. She seemed delighted by the opportunity to spend time with her 'brother,' and gave a little noise of glee, dragging him from the study without another moment's hesitation, the confrontation that had unfolded before her eyes already forgotten.

Charlotte had taken him to his bedroom, and the girl had gone as far as to bring him a cool cloth to place on his head, inquiring if he had a headache. When he answered no, she still insisted he lay down, reminding him what her Mother had always said. He didn't know what the entailed, but obliged her anyway. He still wavered unsteadily whenever he moved too quickly or suddenly; rest was not in and of itself a bad idea.

He must've dozed off to the quiet sound of her playing on his bedroom floor, for when he opened his eyes next, the fatigue and bleariness of sleep greeted him. Rubbing his eyes, he lifted to an elbow; the room was darkened. It was nearly night, and dusk painted the horizon deep shades of crimson and orange above the water, making it glitter beautifully.

His train of thought was abruptly severed as he realized he wasn't alone. Fingers instinctively twitched, but seconds later he remembered that he possessed no fingerless gloves here, and his gray-green eyes sharply fell upon the figure seated at the foot of his bed, and forced his vision to focus.

"Alucard," he said.

The familiar form of the vampire in his deceptively feminine frame sat at the edge of the bed, one arm supporting her as the other folded in her lap, over that white, frilly dress that did not befit a man masquerading in a young girl's body. She was frowning at him from beneath those dark bangs, deep eyes gleaming as they laid upon him.

"Are you alright?" She asked demurely.

"I'm fine," he said, touching a hand to his forehead and withdrawing the cloth that Charlotte had draped there what must've been hours ago. He distantly wondered where she had vanished to.

"You were calling out for someone in your sleep," she said, sliding closer upon the bed slowly, halting at an arm's distance and studying him in the growing darkness. "You must've bumped your head hard. They say you have a concussion at the least."

"How did I get it?"

"You don't remember?"

"Nothing after being freezing cold," he replied. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Arthur seems to be brainwashed or under someone's influence. Have you managed to figure out where we are?"

"Arthur?" Her brows furrowed slightly, perplexity registering on that porcelain doll face.

"Alucard," he growled, lifting his head slightly to glare at her.

"Stop calling me that, Walter. It's unnerving."

"This isn't a game!"

"I know it isn't!"

"Then why are you playing with me like this? Is this what you wanted? To trap us in some kind of… illusionary world? Or are we being strung about like little puppets? Is this what you meant?"

"Walter," she said, her voice hushed, barely above a whisper as she reached forward and brushed the hair from his brow. The cool press of her palm at his forehead was somewhat soothing. It was then it donned on him.

He jerked a hand to hers at his head, pulling it into his lap and staring at it in bewilderment. There were no gloves, no sigils, no restrictions. He turned her hand palm up, then down.

"Walter!" She said more urgently. "Stop it. It isn't funny anymore."

"No," he said, staring at her skin unmarred by sigils, glove less and smooth, pale and beautiful. She was a human - _she was Alucard,_ but she wasn't. Just another illusion, in this world full of them? His head throbbed painfully, and he rose fingers to his temples, wincing.

"Walter," she murmured. His eyes twitched briefly, then narrowed; she had slapped him. His cheek stung where her naked hand had made contact. She was staring at him, eyes smoldering beneath a frown. "I told you to stop playing these games with people. Especially after you went and got yourself hurt - this isn't the time for that nonsense."

He stared at her wordlessly. It was unnerving; this was Alucard's form, no doubt about it, yet all those vampiric features were now human, and the look in those eyes wasn't anything resembling nosferatu. He highly doubted that there was any possibility a creature existed strong enough to completely disillusion the No Life King. So, _what was going on_?

'Ana' crossed her arms over her chest. It seemed she wouldn't have the answers he sought. "On the slight chance this isn't another one of your pranks, I'm going to apologize for doing that. But I'm only sorry if you're telling the truth and have lost your wits from that stupid concussion." She peered at him side-long, almost pouting, but most of the fire had gone out of her eyes. "Go back to sleep, I guess. You should rest and get well, anyway."

He decided to humor her for now; arguing would apparently get him nowhere and fast. "Yeah," he said absently, his thoughts already traveling elsewhere.

She gave a half-smile, and Walter found himself thinking the unbelievable - wishing just once more to hear the taunting laughter of the vampire, an anchor in this strange and foreign sea he had no idea how to navigate… or where to even begin to try.


	10. Uncertainty

_**A/N:**_ _It's taken an eternity, but I've finally produced a new chapter. If you haven't noticed, yet, the previous chapters leading up to this one have been HEAVILY revised to make the fic more cohesive. It's been so long since I last updated, I'm not even sure anyone will make it this far! Even so... comments & criticisms are always welcomed, and I most certainly hope you enjoy. I promise I won't take as long with the next chapters to come. (...let's hope, dear God.)_

* * *

Uneventful days passed by without trouble. Ana and Mrs. Pennington - whose name was Margret, Walter learned - were staying within the estate for the weekend to fine tune the details of an agreement, which, to his dismay, was his pre-arranged marriage to Ana. Despite this, he had resolved not to disrupt his hosts any more than he already had, smoothing over ruffled feathers from the incident in the study with apologies, blaming his concussion for stress and confusion. They ate up the story well, smothering him with sympathy and understanding, so quick to believe his lie that he nearly felt guilty. If they were really just innocent people being manipulated by whoever was at work behind this… mockery, Walter did not want to antagonize them.

Ana was the most difficult to deal with out of all those within the estate. Though she looked a mirror image of Alucard's girlish form, she acted so very different that he was constantly disoriented and on his guard, which only seemed to confuse her more. She took his distance as an insult more often than not, and after the second day, she'd approached him to find out what was wrong. It was one of the most awkward conversations of his life. He blamed it on a persistent headache, and ever since, she had been eyeing him unsurely as if not certain what she was to believe.

He had used her interest in spending time with him and put it to good use. Alas, a thorough search of the manor (in the guise of hide and seek with Ana and Charlotte) had come up empty in terms of clues, and also branded him a horrible 'seeker' by Charlotte, putting him no closer to ascertaining their whereabouts on a map. No one within the household would give him straight answers or just plain refused to talk with him, including the staff. They were all conveniently "too busy," or "didn't have time for games." It was all frustrating and entirely suspect. To make matters worse, every attempt he made at traversing outside of the manor ended in the same exact way - as soon as he stepped foot outside the large double doors and into the sunlight, the blooming pain in his head would throb profusely, and the world would spin dizzily around him. If he dared try to continue on in such condition, he ended up waking up on the marble foyer floor, staring up at the ceiling. After his third attempt, he'd been chastised thoroughly by both Arthur and Mrs. Pennington, and told to stay inside until he was deemed well again.

The third night, he lay awake staring at his ceiling with his hands propped behind his head. He had gotten no closer to uncovering the origins of his mysterious circumstances, nor could he remember how he had obtained the troublesome concussion. Between the frigid cold that had come over him and awakening in the manor, he remembered nothing.

A soft knocking from the hall jarred him from his thoughts, and he pulled his shirt off the bed post, donning it without bothering with buttons before cracking the door open and wincing against the lights that had not yet been dimmed. To his surprise, Ana was there, her porcelain cheeks stained with tears that she continually attempted to wipe, only to have more descend. She looked at him momentarily before dropping her gaze to the floor and sniffling behind her handkerchief. "W-Walter," she stammered, her voice slightly distorted from tears, "may I come in?"

He pushed the door open. "Is everything okay?" He asked, as she stepped inside. He closed it behind her.

"No," she replied, walking slowly to the balcony doors and staring out at the moon hanging high in the sky, amongst a blanket of twinkling stars. "No, it isn't."

"What's the matter?"

"Walter, something horrible has happened," she replied, turning to look at him, clutching the little white handkerchief to her chest.

"What is it?"

"My Father has returned," she said, lowering her head and closing her eyes as the steady trickle of tears remained unrelenting.

Walter was unsure what to say. He had no idea why this would render her in tears, or if he would even _know_ why in this strange world according to this facade of 'family.'

"I _hate _him," she went on, brushing past him and coming to sit on the edge of his bed. He looked after her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. He was never good at giving comfort to others, or dealing with women in general. At a loss, he stayed in place, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, and waiting for her to continue. Which, luckily, she did.

"No one believes me," she said bitterly, wiping her cheeks again with the lacey fabric in her hands. "He's not the type of person people think he is."

"What do you mean?"

"Walter, Mother is stricken with him. She doesn't understand what he is. And even worse is the fact he _knows_ I see it." Her hand balled into a fist, crushing the handkerchief within it, something between rage and frustration on her face. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know," he said, unsure of what he should say. "You could avoid him. This place is pretty large... It wouldn't be too difficult--"

"No, Walter, you don't get it," she said, frowning at him a moment before lowering her head. "He's come back to the Opera House. All of us are going tomorrow evening."

Opera House? Walter arched a brow minutely, studying her in silence. A change... a development, at last, in the mind-numbing pattern of occurrences he'd been dumped in the midst of.

"Then we'll go. You don't have to talk to him," he said.

"...Walter, if we go, then he is taking me with him," she replied.

It was obvious this wasn't what she wanted. What did she expect of him?

She didn't react well to his hesitation. She flounced to her feet, glaring at him in an utterly accusatory manner. "I know this whole thing has been arranged by our parents, and it's not like we're... _in love,_ Walter, but I thought we were friends. Doesn't it bother you at all that I'd go and you'd never see me again?"

Irritation welled up deep inside of him, desperate for someone to blame for this ridiculousness. The easiest target was Alucard, but being angry at the little freak would do nothing for him now. Stewing silently, he forced himself to exhale some of his tension, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably as he eyed the floor. "It isn't like that... Ah. You wouldn't happen to have a fag on you, eh?"

She gave an exasperated, guttural noise before all but throwing herself at him, poking him roughly in the chest and leading him backwards. "Is that all you care about at a time like this?"

He had to be honest. "If I want to keep my sanity around here, yes," he half-growled in response.

Which, in he realized in hind-sight, was most likely not the most sensitive of things to be saying when this girl, despite _appearing_ oh so similar to the nosferatu who tormented him daily, was not Alucard.

She made this point painfully clear by straightening her spine, crossing her arms over her chest and momentarily looking as though she was crossed between the desire to slap him or cry. Perhaps both would inevitably win. Walter decided to attempt to diffuse the situation. Besides, she was offering the only information that could finally lead to something useful.

He reluctantly placed his hands on her shoulders; she lifted her head, dark eyes watching him cautiously beneath that fringe of black bangs. "Look, I don't mean to be treating you like rubbish. I hope you know that. I've just been... ah, out of myself lately... I don't know what I'm thinking. Why don't you tell me what's really going on with your Dad? Maybe we can figure something out together."

She eyed him skeptically a long moment, so much so that he was almost afraid she was going to deny him completely and leave everything at that. However, she simply sighed, hanging her head before speaking again. "I don't know if I want to talk about it. It's not fair of me to expect you to fix any of this. It's not like you could, anyway. Why am I even..."

"Hey," Walter said, tilting his head slightly to catch her gaze. She hesitantly obeyed. "What's the harm in talking about it?"

She wavered a moment longer before slipping away, coming to stand at the foot of his bed with her back against a bedpost. "...I guess you're right... But you can't say a word about any of this to anyone, especially not your Father or my Mum."

"I won't," he replied. Finally, some bloody progress.

Ana considered this a second before nodding. "Fine. Fine..." She paused, biting her lower lip and averting her gaze before beginning, her voice becoming more quiet. "There's something wrong with my Father."

"Wrong with him?"

"Yes. He isn't like us. He isn't like anyone. I think he's... sick."

"Sick?" This would take forever if he had to probe her for more at every turn.

"He..." She hesitated again, something fighting on her features before she tried once more. "There's something wrong with him. Where we used to live - where I grew up, we had a basement that he kept locked off. He called it his tool shed and told us never to go in without his permission. I never really... saw the inside more than once when I was really little... I got curious... I thought there'd have to be something pretty amazing in there for him to keep it locked from everyone all the time..." Ana paused, finally lifting her head enough to make eye contact. "I snuck in."

He did no prodding, simply allowing her to continue when she was ready.

"I saw... something. I wasn't sure what it was at first. It looked like a... like a stuffed animal sitting on a workbench. In... pieces. But there were other pieces, too - parts that weren't..." Her voice momentarily faltered. "They _weren't_ stuffed animals. He was sewing them together. Different parts." She was pale, but she carried on before he could stop her, all in a rush. "He was _making_ something, and I didn't know what. I wanted to turn the light on, but when I went for the switch, he was there. He stopped me, and he chased me out. I was so afraid that he was going to hurt me... I hid in my room, and that night, he left the country for the Opera House. He said it was strictly for business, but I think he was just... afraid..."

Walter's brow furrowed as her tale went on. Sewing together animal parts... It sounded like...

He could remember the monstrosities created in the dank basement, puppets on strings moved by the hand of that massive bastard and his glowing sigil. Was it him? Had he miraculously survived? No... there was no way. Then someone else? The true 'puppetmaster' Alucard had repeatedly hinted towards but never fully--

"Wal...ter?"

Ana was looking up at him quizzically, confusion in her eyes. He realized that he was gripping the bedpost unnaturally tight, knuckles white, and released it slowly.

"...We'll go," he said at last. "Don't worry a thing 'bout your Father."

_You'll lead me right to him. You'll put him right in my hands..._

She must've taken it as him attempting to extend some measure of comfort, because her expression softened and the worry began to momentarily recede from her face. He hadn't meant it as such, truly; this was as close to a breakthrough as he was going to get. Both of them, perhaps - no, _all_ of them might as well have been puppets dangling on strings, here - it was an impression Walter couldn't shake.

However, he had never taken well to being manipulated, and now was no exception. If his goal and this 'Puppetmaster's' brought them together... The Angel of Death had no qualms playing the other's little games. And he had a feeling this pathetic bastard would find out just how adept Walter was with strings firsthand.


End file.
